


reunions

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the emptiness they notice, when they're apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reunions

**Author's Note:**

> dashed off in the absurd pool of grief that opened up after chapter 50.

It’s eight weeks apart.

Eight weeks of bringing a nightmare back to life, fighting her way back, fighting her way through, making sure she lives. She climbs the trees at night and tells herself not to die, not to give in, stay lucid, keep moving, never stop don’t stop if you stop you die.

Don’t die.

The _apart_ is not defining, but it’s a lot. It’s a lot of not hearing Christa -- _Historia_ \-- breathing next to her, a lot of missing touches she’d started to take for granted, a lot of breath not against her neck, a lot fingers she can’t hold.

A lot.

And she tries not to think about it, because that makes it worse, tries not to think about how cold it is at night, how Historia’s arms tighten around her during a dream, the lazy midnight kisses. But it’s...profound...that absence. Some nights she wonders if Historia feels this way, if she’s miles away thinking about the empty space next to her and that keeps her warm. Not that Historia is in pain but that she knows with a rock hard grounding certainty that she’s missed, that Historia wants her by her side, that they’re the same in this. Equally twined with the other.

 

It’s--

It feel like everything stops when she see’s Ymir across the yard. That’s not ridiculous because she freezes, thinks she’s dreaming when she sees Ymir, dark hair pulled back, dark circles under her eyes, in the scouting legion uniform. And then it’s like the world falls in on her in an avalanche of sound and color and she’s running across the yard, tearing through the space, shedding every lonely night and terrifying morning, every shred of fear about Ymir’s life and safety. Closing the distance is like the hole in her, next to her, the emptiness around her, is suddenly filling up and --

God, there are tears rolling down her cheeks. Ymir turns when she hears her -- she doesn’t remember saying anything -- and then she realizes what she’s saying, _Ymir,_  over and over and over like a prayer.

And Ymir’s face lights up, god does it light up, like the sun, and her mouth goes wide with a smile, and she’s closing the distance between them, arms open, closer closer closer.

 

She doesn’t even think about the guards they set her or the people watching, just about Historia running at her. When her arms go around her, when she lifts her up, when Historia’s forehead is against hers and she’s so close Ymir can see the tears on her cheeks and the smile, everything inside of her goes loose, everything goes warm, everything just -- it becomes like she was tensed and waiting for this.

Her cheeks hurt from grinning, but she grins wider when Historia says, _I missed you._

_I missed you._

Nobody tries to part them. Nobody bothers prying their hands apart or pulling them away from each other. Historia stays pressed to her side, both hands around one of hers, presses her face into her arm every now and then like she can’t believe she’s here, she’s real. She stays with her through the debrief, the examination, three superior officers coming to talk to her, to wring every bit of information she could possibly have.

 

They try to part them after the debrief.

They both end up yelling, both end up reaching for each other, and Historia makes demands, so many demands, threatens to stop talking about anything of relevance.

They leave them alone after that, in a closed off room, guarded. But alone. Alone.

 

It could be some kind of heavy, weighted thing, their reunion, filled with grief and fear.

Instead its the door clicking shut and Historia’s fingers in the straps under her jacket, and their teeth bumping against each other and Ymir looking for a handhold, a brace, anything. It’s huffs of laughter as they stumble away from the door, twisted around each other, trip over the bed, strip out of jackets and buckles. It’s Ymir swearing when she tears a button off of Historia’s shirt, shivering when Historia runs her fingers over her stomach, over a new scar.

It’s a pause, as if suddenly everything’s fallen into this moment, they’ve fallen into this, and their heads bow together, and they each take a breath, half naked and pressed together. It’s the inferno building, as if they’d never banked it, as if they’d never been apart because they haven’t, because _I’ll always be by your side_. It’s Historia’s hair brushing Ymir’s cheeks, her hands braced against Ymir’s palms, flush rising over her chest. It’s the way Ymir’s hips lift, almost unconsciously, the way her fingers tighten over Historia’s, the way her eyes slide shut.

_I missed you._

_Yeah_ , Ymir says later, when Historia’s back is pressed against her chest, when their arms are stretched out and their fingers twisted together, and her mouth is near her ear. _Yeah, I missed you, too. Historia._

 


End file.
